Quarantine
by Ista
Summary: After catching a rare virus, Mal and Simon are confined to one of Serenity's shuttles. But the Alliance is about to pay them a visit… Plenty of h/c and some Mal/Inara romance in the end. Two-shot.
1. The Corner of No and Where

**Quarantine**

 **Summary:** After catching a rare virus, Mal and Simon are confined to one of _Serenity's_ shuttles. But the Alliance is about to pay them a visit… Plenty of h/c and some Mal/Inara romance in the end. Two-shot.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything related to _Firefly_ or _Serenity…_ Darn.

 **Warning:** Simon has panic attacks in this one. Take care of yourselves, kiddies!

 **Chapter 1: The Corner of No and Where**

It's basically _ma fuhn._

Simon Tam wipes the captain's forehead with a damp cloth. In the dull light of the shuttlecraft, Reynolds' face is pale and waxy with sweat. The doctor persists with his ministrations, checking the captain's vitals—pulse and respiration—as he had been checking them every half hour or so since they were confined to the shuttle under Tam's own orders.

 _Quarantine._

What an ugly word.

" _Dohn-luh-mah?_ I said I wanted the _jelly-filled_ donut. _Ta mah duh!"_

Simon nearly spits out the sip of water in his mouth and rushes to the older man's bedside.

"Captain?" he asks, taking the other man's hand and squeezing for effect. It's the first time Reynolds has spoken after succumbing to the particularly nasty strain of the Patagonian flu and languishing in an almost comatose state since then.

The captain doesn't respond or open his eyes, but his head rolls back and forth, mumbling incoherently.

"Mal?" the doctor tries again, his voice stronger this time. The nickname sounds strange coming from his own lips—Simon supposes it's one of the few times he has ever said it.

"Can't argue… with pineapples…" Mal continues, one string of nonsensical phrases after the other. Simon lays the back of his hand on Reynolds' forehead and feels the heat radiating off the other man's skin.

 _His fever is spiking,_ Simon thinks. A smattering of curses in Mandarin confirms this theory. Tam temporarily leaves Mal's side, bringing back cold compresses and water. Minutes tick by maddeningly, but eventually the captain settles. Then his eyes fluttering open so unexpectedly that Simon gasps.

"Hey, doc," says Mal with a dopey grin. His eyes are glazed, cheeks flushed, but he's _conscious._ Which is huge. Because it means his fever is broken. Which means he's going to make it.

"You had me worried, captain," the doctor says truthfully.

"Don' worry," Mal slurs. "'m not goin' anywhere." Slowly, his eyes close.

"No," says Simon with a contented sigh. "I don't believe you will."

* * *

The doctor watches Captain Reynolds sleep peacefully from the table where he munches on dried apricots. In his lap is a paper journal that he's been extensively writing in over the past three days. He writes about their current situation—how a distress signal on Oleander sent both _Serenity's_ captain and doctor planet side only to find everyone in the small colony deceased. There wasn't much left of their corpses—having been almost completely consumed by the virulent influenza Of course, they didn't have the proper facilities or medicine to treat the extremely contagious disease. But Simon immediately knew what had killed them.

Tam didn't want to take any chances of possibly infecting the crew or spreading the disease to another planet by keeping their shuttle attached to the Firefly, so the crew of _Serenity_ dropped off supplies for them as they settled on a nearby moon to await their fate. Zoe assured the pair that the captain's beloved boat would be back in a week to check on them. By then, it would be enough time for the flu's symptoms to manifest themselves.

Reynolds had started feeling unwell right after they landed on the moon, and his condition began to deteriorate rapidly. However, Tam had saline solution to make sure the older man stayed hydrated and adequate medicine to keep his fever at bay.

The shuttle begins to rumble, causing Simon to set his pen down and walk to the controls. Pressing a few buttons, he reads the sensors—a small moonquake, nothing more.

Tam lets out a sigh of relief, pacing the small shuttle from one end to the other to get some pent-up energy out. He has done remarkably well so far dealing with his claustrophobia. At first realization that the shuttle would be his home for the next week, a pang of terror had shot through him, but the man from Osiris had forced himself to focus on healing the captain, performing diagnostics, and writing in his journal. So far, keeping busy had worked.

 _Perhaps I've cured myself at last!_

Simon drinks jasmine tea and turns page after page of a classic Earth-That-Was novel, _Jane Eyre._ He has just made a mental note to mention to River about a heroine with Jayne's name (in order to feed her favorite pastime of teasing the mercenary about it) when his cup begins to rattle on the table. He grips the armrests of his chair as the shuttle rumbles around him.

" _Shuh muh_ …?" A few feet away, the captain wakes groggily. "What… is that?"

Simon positions himself beside the captain. Instinctively, he reaches out for Mal's wrist, his forehead.

"Moonquake," Tam says quietly, concentrating on the other man's vitals. _No trace of fever._ He lets out a breath he had been unconsciously holding.

"Hmm…" Mal's eyes swivel left, right, taking in the sights of the shuttle curiously, as if he forgot where he was. "How long have I been out?"

"Almost four days," says the doctor, and Mal groans in response. "How do you feel?"

Mal beams. "You know when you wake up sometimes and feel like you could conquer the whole gorram 'Verse?"

"Yeah?" says Simon.

The captain's smile turns upside down. "The opposite of that."

The doctor brings a cup of water for the other man to take in slow sips and speaks again. How strange to hear his own voice after so many hours without using it!

"At least you're not mumbling nonsense," he says.

Mal swallows water and quirks up an eyebrow. "Really? What _kind_ of nonsensery?" His face grows a tinge redder. "Hopefully nothin'… you know… _mo min chi meow…_ or _embarrassin'."_

"Oh… no!" Simon reassures, running a hand through his hair and feeling overly warm himself. "Just—something about pineapples."

The captain's bemused expression changes to a crinkled smile, and he laughs, and Simon joins in until the captain's chuckles give way to a coughing fit.

Simon pushes him back down gently after helping Reynolds to more water. "You should rest now. You're not fully recovered."

"All right, doc," says Mal wearily. "Won't argue with you there."

Simon watches the captain until the older man falls asleep. Then he walks back to the table to resume reading his gothic novel, contemplating when the last time he slept was and whether or not he should take anything for the small headache growing in the back of his skull.

* * *

"You feel okay, doc?" Mal asks through a spoonful of chili and quinoa mix. It seems like he's barely chewed before scooping up another bite.

"Slowly," directs Simon from the shuttle's controls. "And—yes—I'm fine."

Although he continues scans, Simon watches Mal out of the corner of his eye to make sure the other man is eating at a slower pace. He can't really blame Reynolds though. If the doctor had gone three days without food, he'd probably be just as ravenous.

Tam sends the message to _Serenity_ to rendezvous in a day or two, that the captain is on the mend and they can reunite with the larger vessel soon. Simon feels a chill run through him, and whether it's stress or the anticipation of leaving this cramped space, he's uncertain. Right now, Tam longs to be _anywhere_ where he can stretch his legs.

* * *

The shuttle's alert rings like an alarm through Simon Tam's sensitive skull. Having already swallowed some basic medicine for the pain, he's disappointed that it has had little effect on knocking out his persistent migraine. And then there's his fluctuating temperature; one moment he feels hot, the next, cold.

The professional inside him tells him to analyze his symptoms and properly diagnose, but the scrappier thief-in-training part of him (so new, so untapped) has to be strong for the captain, an entire crew in one person.

So Simon disregards his own internal warning system to answer the external one screaming at him. Yellow lights flash, their afterimages burning into his eyes.

"Just when I was havin' a really shiny dream!" complains Mal sleepily, propping himself up.

Simon asks without a beat: "Was it pineapple related?"

"Ha. Ha." Mal stands smoothly, grabbing his russet-colored jacket from the end of the bed. "What do we got?"

Tam checks and re-checks the shuttle's signal.

 _No. Can't be…_

He feels a cold sensation of sweat slide down the back of his neck.

"It's an Alliance vessel. They've picked up the shuttle. Looks like we're about to be graced with a visit."

The captain blanches.

"And me all fresh outta cookies."

Simon thinks: _This is it. I am going to be captured. And tortured. And I will never see River again. And Mal will die. And—_

"Doc!" Mal's firm grip on his arm pulls Simon away from the dark thoughts. "Before you assume the worst… I've gotta plan. And it's brilliant, totally _gao guhn_."

Simon crosses his arms.

"I can see that you're not convinced of my brilliance, or of my brilliant plan—"

"—or both," Simon interrupts.

Mal winces. "Or both. But you forget that _Serenity_ will be here within a day, maybe less. If'n we leave the Alliance an empty tin, they won't stick around."

Tam sighs. "Captain, you forget that there's nowhere to hide on this shuttle. And this moon has no atmosphere. Where are we to go?"

Reynolds saunters over to a storage compartment, sliding it open to reveal two glinting, grey spacesuits.

Despite admirable efforts to press his lips together, a strangled cry escapes the doctor's throat.

* * *

Mal is feeling peachy. Really keen. Best he's felt in a long while. And who knew that canned chili, of all _kuh wu_ things, could taste so _amazing_? Even with the Alliance breathing down his ever-loving neck, it all seems too effortless.

"We get in the space suits quick-like," Mal explains to the doctor, as if he's a toddler. "And we head for the abandoned mines—they're only a kilometer away or so. We hide in the mines 'til the _ching jien soh_ leave and sneak back. Easy peasy."

Simon Tam is deathly still, eyes downcast, face a smidgen paler than usual. And that's impressive for a Tam, Mal reckons.

"You're not well enough."

"I feel great!" Mal refutes, removing one of the suits from the storage compartment. And he isn't lying. Aside from some minor weakness in his limbs, he's bright-eyed and bushy-tailed again.

"Then just leave me here," says the doctor.

Mal stops, puzzled. "Doc, I'm not sure you remember… but the Alliance kinda wants to _kill_ you. And your sister."

"But they wouldn't kill me," says Simon, licking his lips. "Not without River. They might only torture me—"

" _Only_ torture you?" Mal pipes up. He would laugh if the remark wasn't so moon-brained. "Yeah, that'd be a stroll through Persephone Park."

"I can handle torture," snaps Tam.

"Then they'd figure out where she is, which means _Serenity_ , which means we'd _all_ die."

"I'd never betray you!" Simon yells, eyes wide.

 _Guess the doc isn't so calm and collected all the time._

Never one for losing a shouting match, the captain is about to vocalize his opinions further when he examines Tam's face. Within the shuttle, the two men freeze. And Mal suddenly takes in the other man's wide eyes, pallid skin, the slick of sweat upon his brow.

"You've got it, haven't you?" Mal asks softly, his heartbeat picking up. "You're sick."

"I'm fine," Simon says, eyes downcast again.

Mal claps slowly, noting the way the doctor winces at the noise. "Congratulations. That was the worst job at lying I've ever witnessed. And I've witnessed some pretty terrible _mi tian gohn_."

"I have a phobia," the doctor says, stronger, and he manages to look up at Reynolds.

This time, there is no fabrication in his tone. The doc is telling the truth. And Mal suddenly remembers when the Alliance boarded them after they found the Reaver-attacked craft, how Tam hesitated putting on a space suit even though he knew it was the only way to save his and River's lives. It was the only time Mal had seen him hesitate to do what was right since bargaining for safe passage after Kaylee was shot by the Fed. What Mal had mistaken for _sickness_ was pure _fear._ And it is perhaps more tricky to deal with in their current sticky situation.

The captain's voice smoothes over, honeyish. "Listen, doc. It'll only be for an hour or so, and I'll be right with you the whole time. It'll be _mei wen ti_."

The doctor takes another look at the suit, and his entire body stiffens.

"I…can't," he whispers, eyes glassy.

Mal steps closer to the younger man, putting a steady hand on his shoulder.

"Do it for River."

At last, Simon nods, defeated, and Mal helps him put on the clunky suit.

The captain's mind races as his hands brush Simon's back. The doctor's body is radiating heat in waves.

"Only be gone for an hour or so," Mal says out loud, but this time he says it to comfort himself more than Simon.

* * *

The doctor's voice trembles.

"It's cold, it's dark, and it's silent… And I feel as if my body is being crushed very very slowly…"

The captain told Simon to describe how he was feeling as the two marched slowly away from the shuttle towards the abandoned mine in the near distance. Mal had said it might help the doctor rationalize his fears—a very practical approach. But Tam isn't sure it's helping.

"…and I think I'm going to be consumed by the darkness, all en-compassing… until I am left all alone—"

"Okay, that's enough," interrupts Mal, his voice coming through loudly in Simon's earpiece. Tam turns slowly to look over his shoulder at Mal, and the captain grins good-naturedly, giving a clunky thumbs-up. "Wouldn't want you to use up all your best creepifying descriptions while we're still out in the open. Haven't gotten to the mines yet…"

Simon looks away, partly in shame, partly in fear, until he feels a light tap on the back of his helmet.

"Hey—" Mal intones. "What did I say? We're gonna get through this together."

The doctor smiles weakly, mustering fake courage he has yet to find. Inwardly, he curses himself.

 _Just keep it together._

If he didn't have claustrophobia, Simon imagines he would enjoy the sight currently before the pair. The curve of the small moon is visible to them. Above is a canopy of jewel-bright stars, and a brilliant orb of the blue planet, Oleander. White wisps of clouds broil across its surface, blooming above them like an umbrella. A ring of sparkling rocks and ice particles circles the planet they just left, a pretty marker for its deceased. Tam suddenly feels the sky swoon and sway above him.

Simon stumbles over the chalky moon rocks at his feet, and he feels the captain's arm grasping his, steadying him.

"Th-thanks," the doctor stammers, feeling a chill sweep through him. He can't suppress the knowledge that he's sick any longer. Simon ticks the invisible boxes of the checklist of his symptoms: a fever, pounding head, chills, muscle aches…

 _And we're currently walking away from all the medical supplies I need to get better,_ he thinks grimly.

The increasing unsteadiness (and impending doom) become more apparent as they approach the ramshackle mine. Simon stops in his tracks, pivoting backwards.

"What if the Alliance takes the shuttle, and we're stuck here?" Tam's voice is hoarse, and he suppresses a cough.

"Not gonna happen, _boy_ ," says Mal, emphasizing the diminutive he _knows_ Simon detests. The captain steers him back around by the shoulders.

Simon swallows, his throat dry, and they approach the mine.

The ancient building looms overhead as they step through its entrance. Suddenly, Simon is reminded of a fantasy novel he read when he was fourteen years old on Osiris. He struggles to remember the author. _Tolkien_.

Tolkien wrote about lots of marvelous places in his books, but one place stuck with Simon more than any other—The Mines of Moria.

Nothing good ever came from venturing into those mines for the Fellowship, especially not the little hobbits.

Simon shivers and stops so abruptly that Mal runs into him, causing the older man to curse in Mandarin.

"I don't like this," says Simon into the darkness that yawns before them. "I'm like Frodo… and you're like Sam… Or is it the other way around?" He trails off, remembering the story.

" _What_?" Mal spins in front of him, pulling him further along. "We gotta find a place to hide."

"It's a tomb," whispers Simon, examining the glistening black stalactites above him, light-headed.

"C'mon, Frodo," Mal says. "Nothing's gonna happen."

The rumble starts softly, jostling pebbles at their feet. Then it builds so much that Simon can feel it vibrating up through the soles of his suit, making his teeth chatter. The soft grumble becomes a roar in seconds.

 _Moonquake._

Tam barely sees the blind panic on Reynolds' face, illuminated by the twinkling stars outside, before the ceiling collapses above them, sweeping both men into an inky blackness.

TBC

 **A/N:** I _just_ watched this show after years and years (and _years)_ of friends telling me I needed to watch it. And they were right. It's one of the best things I've seen, and rainbows and sparkles, and I can't even _describe_ how in love with all the characters I am. So (of course) my fanfiction-obssessed self just _had_ to write a ficlet involving two of my favorites. Sorry if the Mandarin usage is terrible—I just found some basic phrases on a "Firefly" pdf guide online. Hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think.


	2. Some Thrilling Heroics

**Quarantine**

 **Chapter 2: Some Thrilling Heroics**

 **Warning:** Simon has a full-blown panic attack in this one. Take care of yourself, kiddies!

Malcolm Reynolds has no time to think rationally, let alone move, before the ceiling of the mine comes crashing down upon him. He flinches, anticipating the impact, but at the last second he feels surprisingly strong arms grip him and fling him out of harm's way.

 _Doctor?_

Milliseconds later, the thunderous crash of boulders blocks out all thoughts, and the captain is curled on the ground, mere feet away.

He moans and rises stiffly, coughing dust from his lungs, and checking for broken bones. When Mal's satisfied that he's all right, he blinks, eyes waiting to adjust to any traces of remaining light, but there is none. Reynolds immediately taps the flashlight on his wrist, but it doesn't respond.

 _Must've been damaged in the ruckus._

"Doc!" he calls, thankful for the delayed static that follows his voice, meaning the communicator is still working. "DOC!"

When he hears no response, Mal's heart begins to hammer in his chest.

 _C'mon….c'mon, di-di._

Then—a ragged breath wheezes in his earpiece.

"Doc!" Mal shouts again with a renewed energy, whirling around. "Where are you?"

More breathing, turning into gasps.

"Are you hurt? Tell me where you are!"

But the doctor doesn't respond. Frustrated, Mal taps the light switch on his arm again and again without success, swearing at his forced blindness. Hurriedly, he feels for the still-crumbling wall of rocks and starts to feel his way along its perimeter, moving perpendicularly to the cave-in for a few minutes before stepping into the uncertainty of the middle of the open tunnel. Reynolds trips over a large stone, staggering to find purchase amidst the rubble before moving forward. The breathing in his earpiece continues like a sob, rough and weak and grating on his nerves.

"Just gimme a sign, doc," he says.

Then, a miracle: "C-can't…"

Mal swats at the light on his left wrist. Finally, it turns on, sending a bright white beam piercing through the murky darkness.

The captain freezes. The doctor is huddled up against the far wall, knees pressed to his chest, turned slightly away from him. Reynolds shifts the light to reflect off the younger man's helmet, but the doctor turns away.

"Doc!" Mal calls. He moves swiftly to the other's side, but Tam remains unresponsive. His breathing, however, continues to be loud, raspy, and becoming faster with each passing second.

"Where're ya hurt?" Mal asks, kneeling beside the younger man.

Tam just shakes his head, placing his gloved hands over the bubble of his helmet, as if ashamed.

And then it sinks in for Reynolds. The cave-in. He's witnessing the doc experience a panic attack.

"Hey… Hey, it's okay," Mal says, putting a clunky hand on the other man's trembling shoulder. "How can I help?"

More wheezing. Practically gasping for air, as if he can't get any. Simon's face is pale, his eyes unfocused, leaning against the rock wall. Mal might as well be ten kilometers away.

" _Simon_ …" Mal's voice becomes gentle, as if speaking to a small child or frightened animal. The doctor finally looks at him in the cold white ray of his flashlight, perhaps surprised to hear his first name. _Serenity's_ captain doesn't often address him that way.

It shocks Mal more than he would care to admit to see the doc this way. Normally so sharp and intellectual and stoic. How could someone who usually acts so emotionlessly be thrown into intense anxiety in the right situations? It also pains Mal to view Simon suffering this way. He immediately longs to do anything he can to make the attack stop. That, and Simon taking deep gulps of air only reminds Mal that they have a limited amount of oxygen stored in their suits. About six hour's worth.

"Try to slow your breaths. Easy. Easy. That's it. In and out. Slow…."

Mal sits beside Simon, not wanting to crowd the younger man and make him feel even more closed in, but he's shocked when the doctor takes his hand, gripping tightly. His eyes are not quite so wide now, his breaths slower.

"That's it," Reynolds encourages. "That's it, Simon."

And then the gasps stop, and Simon huffs heavily, slumping against the rock wall as if all the energy has left his body.

Mal pats him on the back awkwardly, sitting against the wall too and silently willing his heart to stop beating so damn _fast_. "Let's make an agreement right now and decide to never do that again."

Simon is silent. Alarm bells sound in Reynolds' mind until he sees the white fog of condensation in the doc's helmet, his mouth slightly open.

Asleep.

 _Hopefully just asleep._

The captain uses this opportunity to inspect the cave-in, carefully searching for gaps in the rubble or structural weaknesses, but as far as he can tell, there are none. The entryway is sealed good and shut.

 _How w'rin bulLai, whai w'rin bu jwo._

"Here we are," Mal mutters to himself. "Shut away inside a cave with a limited amount of oxygen, no crew, no boat, and the Alliance buzzing around outside—"

"And one sick doctor," a voice pipes eerily into his ear.

Mal whirls around, steadying himself in the clumsy suit. Simon is awake, still wilting against the wall. Reynolds can't tell if it's the glow of his wrist light, but the doc is even paler than before.

He hesitates before approaching.

"You're usually terrible at joking, and you just had a major freak-out, so I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and ask you to repeat that."

The doctor coughs weakly, as if to cement what he just said.

"I've got the Patagonian flu for sure."

Mal feels his stomach churn, his original worries flaring. "How long have you known?"

"Not…long." Simon's head sways from one side to the other. "Started feeling it…earlier today…maybe yesterday."

Reynolds crouches beside the man, no-nonsense now.

"Symptoms?"

Tam's eyes drift then close.

Mal shakes him violently. "Symptoms, doctor."

Simon's eyes flash open, startled, and he speaks as if reciting off a chart. "Aches, ch-chill, nausea, headache, fever…"

Mal wrinkles up his nose "Why do I have the overwhelming urge to pat your forehead?"

The doctor manages a weak smile, the first time he's smiled since putting on the gorram suit.

"All right," Mal says, returning the grin. "So we wait a few hours for the Alliance to kick it and we burrow our way out of here. It's a plan."

Simon licks his lips. "I…I saw you looking for… a way out. Tell me, truthfully. We're stuck."

Mal pauses and thinks carefully about his answer. Ultimately, he knows he can't lie to the doc.

"Yeah."

The younger man sighs, a bead of sweat running down his face, eyes fluttering shut. "Then that's it. We're dead."

"I appreciate your unabashed optimism," says Mal dryly. "Don't forget! _Serenity's_ still out there."

"—and they're not scheduled to rendezvous with us for another day."

"Plenty of oxygen 'til then." Mal says. Well, he had to lie _sometime._ The look Simon shoots him is dubious, but his doubt is ultimately overcome by a longing for trust. The doctor nods. And Mal knows he made the right decision.

"Just don't go hyperventilating on me again."

"I …I'll t-try," Simon says, teeth chattering.

Mal takes a deep breath and almost looks for a blanket he knows he doesn't have and would be pointless to produce. Then he switches his light off, and his thoughts become as empty and blank as the cave that seems to close around him in a permanent and crushing embrace.

In that moment, he feels all of Simon's anguish tenfold.

* * *

Simon can hear his own breath in the void. At least, he thinks the breath belongs to him.

Sometimes the void is empty and sometimes it brings him images (a book, a scalpel), landscapes (his childhood bedroom, a waterfall, a sunny field). Sometimes his fevered mind conjures up people.

River twirls to the beat of a tambourine, smiling that far-away smile of hers. Kaylee bares a birthday cake, smeared with chocolate frosting and topped with glittering multi-colored candles.

Warmth rushes over to him only to be replaced by a chill, like the wind on an icy day. There is no part of him it doesn't touch. Simon shivers, but he is trapped inside a cold suit of metal and plastic and glass that sticks into his joints at odd angles and provides no comfort or relief. There are no sheets wrapped around his body, no soft pillow to rest his aching head.

Then Jayne strides out of the darkness, wielding a rusty blade. He growls like a wolf and lunges forward. Simon cries out, blocking the bubble of his helmet with his shaking hands, and when he sets them down, River is beside him. Her eyes are filled with tears, and she's gripping his arm so tightly, he can feel her fingers through his suit.

 _Simon, wake up. You're delirious. You've got to stay with me. We're coming for you._ Serenity's _coming, big brother. Just hold on. Hold—_

"—on, Simon! Snap out of it!"

River's image blurs like watercolors on a canvas, dissolving into the face of…

"Mal." Simon heaves through a series of coughs. Tears stream down his cheeks at the pain and the fright of his nightmare.

The captain's helmet balloons in front of his own, brown eyes exuding relief through the harsh beam of his wrist light.

"I thought… you were River," says Simon shakily.

Mal considers this. "I get that a lot."

Tam's eyes roll upwards and Mal promptly pokes his helmet.

"You gonna stay with me?"

Simon bites his lip, nods. "And you? Are you s-staying too?"

Reynolds beams, genuine. He puts a hand on Simon's arm, and Simon can feel the pressure of authentic touch this time.

"I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

Half an hour of oxygen left.

Malcolm Reynolds sits completely still, trying to decrease his breathing. Simon Tam lies motionlessly, propped up against Mal's chest at an angle. Mal focuses on the rhythmic sound of the doctor's breath in his earpiece as it threatens to lull him to sleep.

At least the young man is sleeping peacefully. It was touch and go for a while there. Listening to his ravings, trying to comfort him without touching him. And how frustrating to have nothing to alleviate his pain. Perhaps it was an inadvertent miracle that their decreasing oxygen began to lower the temp in their suits. Mal is fairly sure the doc's fever is broken.

Now all they have to do is wait.

 _Wait for what?_ Mal thinks grimly. For death? For _Serenity_ to return to their shuttle to find it empty?

"Mal?" Simon rasps.

"There he is!" Mal softly exclaims, looking down as the doc blinks sleepily.

"How long?" Tam whispers.

"About five hours," says Mal. "I was really worried about you for a while there."

A pause, then: "Thirsty."

"Yeah." Mal grits his teeth. "Me too."

A few minutes pass ,and Mal is sure the other man is asleep again when Simon says quietly, "I miss them."

"Who?" Mal asks.

"The crew," says Simon. "All of them. I miss Book's calm voice, Wash's jokes, Inara's laugh, Zoe's rare smiles… I even miss Jayne and his pet guns…"

"I miss him too," Mal says, tilting his head. "Never thought I'd say _that_."

"And River," says Simon, his eyes becoming half-lidded. "I should have protected her better. I should have… saved her."

"You _did_ save her, remember?" Mal counters.

Simon says, even softer, "I hope she knows how much I love her."

"She knows," soothes Mal, rubbing his arm. "She knows."

"Kaylee doesn't," whispers Simon.

Mal sits silently, brooding, then: "Inara doesn't either."

Tam jerks his head up to look at the captain more closely. The ghost of a smile flickers across his porcelain face. "I knew it!"

Mal clears his throat. "Well, we know what to say next time we see them, don't we?"

 _Unless she's already gone by the time we get back._

Simon nods, and his eyes close.

Reynolds thinks of Inara, her black hair flowing, golden bracelets jangling along her arms, her dark eyes enigmatic, seeking and knowing and the sweetest possible things. Mal thinks of Inara and surprises himself when his eyes begin to water with emotion.

"Simon," he murmurs a moment later. When the doctor doesn't respond, Mal shakes his arm. "Simon!"

No response. The younger man remains unresponsive, the faint mist of breath on his helmet.

Mal leans back on the wall, feeling light-headed and scared. He surprises himself for the second time that day by addressing someone he assumed was dead for the past several years:

"Look, I know we've had a somewhat rocky relationship in the past. And I'm not convinced that you're even _real._ But if you are, I really need your help. God, _we_ really need your help."

Nothing. Dead silence.

Mal opens one eye. " _Please_?"

A deep rumbling behind him, and Mal curses as pieces of the mine begin to crumble above him. Another moonquake.

"Oh, C'MON!" Mal screams. "Is _this_ your answer? Well, SCREW YOU!" Reynolds scrambles backwards, pulling Simon's limp body with him and shielding the other man from falling debris.

But then the growling noise changes into more of a _roar,_ and Mal's eyes widen as he sees the tip of a swirling grey drill protrude from the mass of rocks imprisoning them.

"I take it back! I take it back!" Mal shouts breathlessly, eyes turned towards the cave's ceiling. He says softly, genuinely, "Thanks."

The moment is over, and the captain hoists Simon's form upright, one arm supporting his neck, the other cradling his legs. Then he retreats farther down the cave to be clear of the drill. Mal keeps a close eye on the tool, debating what he would do if a bunch of Alliance soldiers burst through. Would dying in the cave be worse than what the Alliance thugs would do to him, or to Simon?

Mal looks down at the fragile young man in his arms and grinds his teeth. He can't even tell if Simon's breathing anymore.

"Hey," Mal whispers, but Simon's eyes remain closed, and something tells Reynolds he won't be opening them anytime soon. Tam's oxygen levels are probably dangerously low. He sets the man on the ground beside him.

Just then, an alarm chimes in his suit.

 _Speaking of low oxygen levels…_

Thankfully, the drill twists and churns its way through the pile of black rocks fairly quickly with a final _growl_ , and Mal sees past the blinding floodlights that shine in his eyes, slowly adjusting to see the mule. It's been converted into a rescue vehicle, and he sees the crew—Wash is in the driver's seat, Jayne is by his side, holding Vera in his arms, and Zoe's behind him…

"Hi," Mal says, feeling a bit dizzy. He squints into the light and the shocked expressions of his crew.

Then Reynolds falls face down.

"Sir!" That's Zoe's voice, snapping Mal awake. "Jayne—"

"Gotcha."

Before the captain can protest, he feels sturdy arms dragging him to his feet. It's Jayne, he realizes. As the mercenary slings one of the captain's arms over his shoulder, Mal's fuzzy brain fumbles for the words he needs.

"Simon…still has the flu… Help him."

"Already on it, sir," pipes Zoe's voice into his ear, and Jayne helpfully swings him around to view Zoe lifting the doctor much in the same way Jayne had lifted him.

"Thought you…were the… Alliance," Mal says, slurring the words.

Jayne mutters under his breath. "Typical."

"Don't try to talk," says Wash, beside him. Mal swivels around, wondering when the pilot had so sneakily crept up on his other side, helping Jayne hold him upright.

"Wow," says Mal, ignoring Wash. "What a…. dramatic rescue."

Jayne grumbles. " _Captains._ Always the worst at following orders."

Wash chuckles at this.

"Let's go," says Zoe. She has already managed to get Simon on board and securely buckled in.

Mal's legs give out, causing Wash and Jayne to stagger forward, catching him before he hits the ground.

"Tell that to Captain Graceful here," says Wash. He taps Mal's helmet, and Reynolds moans.

Zoe huffs in annoyance ,and Mal only feels a brief _tug_ on his arm before he is sealed in the mule beside Simon. Jayne and Wash sit in the front while Zoe keeps a steady hand on his shoulder. The mule's engines rev, and it backtracks, bumping over rubble until they are free of the perpetual darkness of the mine and cruising across the moon's gravelly surface.

"Just a minute to get back to the shuttle, sir," Zoe explains to him. "Hold on…"

Mal tries to form a witty response, but Zoe's face dissolves into a bright white light.

* * *

Simon wakes to music.

It's Classical, from Earth-That-Was, some 800 years before his time. Mozart.

The captain stands with his back to him, a few feet away, and Simon is lying on something soft. He's warm, but not overly so. He yawns.

Mal must have heard him because the older man sets down the mug he was holding on a table and turns around.

Simon is about to speak shyly, but Mal beats him to it: "What's playing?"

The doctor quirks his head, recalling the precise movement. "Mozart's Piano Sonata, Number 11, 3rd movement."

Mal laughs raucously. "Wrong! It's Haydn." He smirks at Tam's bewilderment, as if daring the other man to protest.

Simon listens more intently, letting the music roll over him. It reminds him of his childhood, of playing with River on Osiris in a room with cornflower wallpaper, and the perpetual scent of freshly baked bread.

"No," Simon insists, closing his eyes. "It _is_ Mozart. My original assessment was accurate."

Instead of arguing with the surgeon, Mal whoops in a half-crazed manner, punching Tam on the shoulder. Simon recoils, utterly confused.

"Captain…?"

"When I told you that it was Beethoven yesterday, you just agreed with me and went back to sleep. Now I know _for sure_ you're better."

Simon takes a deep breath, checking himself over physically. Gone is the headache, the aches and pains. He feels more or less normal, if a tad hungry. Then he pieces together the events of the past few days into a coherent narrative. He suddenly shoots upright.

"The cave-in! And the mine… We were trapped…"

"Easy," says Mal, a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back gently.

"How did we get back on the shuttle?"

Reynolds tells him everything—about how _Serenity_ came back sooner after picking up an Alliance vessel on their radar. Once the other ship was safely out of the area, Zoe sent a team down with the mule and managed to dig them out after picking up life signs in the abandoned mine.

A soft _beep beep beep_ sounds, and Mal walks to the shuttle's controls. "Speaking of _Serenity_ —they're ready to rendezvous."

* * *

Reynolds watches Tam wait by the shuttle's door like an eager puppy. Both listen to the _click_ and _hiss_ of the airlock as the shuttle connects to _Serenity._ Of course, the entire crew is waiting for them on the other side. River slides in first, barefoot, pressing her palms into Simon's hands. Her face is completely blank, but the air is electric when they touch. His sister says nothing, but her eyes are open wide, reading every detail in his face.

"I'm all right, mei-mei," says Simon.

Mal slips past them as the rest of the crew gather round. Kaylee has made little mounds of sweet protein paste that she calls "cookies," and Mal munches on one as she wraps him into a hug. Wash is characteristically chatty and fondly interrupts his wife as Zoe gets Mal caught up on _Serenity's_ latest adventures from the past week. Book and Jayne exchange sincere and sarcastic (in that order) congratulations on the captain for surviving another sticky situation.

And Inara.

She's standing in the back of the group in the hallway. Her hands are clasped together and her eyes are big and shiny, as if she's been crying. Her magenta dress flows from her too-long sleeves down to the metal grating she's standing on, and a single tear drop-shaped pendant hangs around her neck. Mal doesn't think she's ever looked so lovely.

The captain walks to her slowly. She looks down, clearing her throat, and glances back up.

"You're still alive," she says and winces.

He says, "You're still here," and instantly regrets it.

Inara is about to turn around when the captain catches her hand.

"Maybe we should go back," Mal says, stumbling over his words and avoiding her gaze. "Re-do those words to expressify how we truly feel… You know, unless that's how _you_ truly feel—"

The Companion cuts Reynolds off by sweeping him backwards in a long and passionate kiss.

When they are finished, you can hear a proverbial pin drop throughout the Firefly vessel. The other crewmembers stare at them. Jayne has a smug grin on his face, nodding slightly. Book and Simon seem pleased. Zoe has an eyebrow quirked. Kaylee and River are giggling. Wash is the only one who looks aghast.

"Did I miss something?" the pilot asks.

~~Fin~~

 **A/N:** What did you all think? Thanks so much for reading!


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